A Word In Season
Bring me not those words of Winter,
That icy breath, cold and bitter
Faces flushed and tear laden eyes
A cutting blast and joy’s demise
I care not for the words of Spring,
Gossamer soft on fairy wing,
Ephemeral words, in vivid hue,
Marigold, rose and cobalt blue.
Neither bring hot words of Summer,
Withered grey or black with omen,
They rail as roiling thunder heads
To drive small children from their beds.
Bring to me some words autumnal,
Carried soft on an evening breeze
Like painted leaves of ochre gold,
Heroic words of sagas told.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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